


Sandalwood

by apprenticeofcups



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Astrology, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Fluff, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-28 04:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticeofcups/pseuds/apprenticeofcups
Summary: Canis swipes Asra’s one-night stand to practice his star charts.





	Sandalwood

“I have two deliveries coming tonight, and the butcher’s wife is stopping by to reschedule the session they missed—” Asra dragged his small wooden stepstool with the koi-fish mosaic seat into the breakfast nook off his cramped kitchen, climbing up to dump a handful of earthy-smelling chips in a hanging incense burner shaped like a crescent moon and lighting it with a long match. He repeated the process three more times in the corners of the nook, in the burners shaped like half, gibbous, and full moons. “How’s the accounting coming, Valentin?”

“Working on it.”

“I really need the books done soon.” He hopped down and collected half a dozen mismatched teacups from the mess of receipts, invoices, and huge ledger book his apprentice had spread out on the table.

Valentin rescued his in-use cup from the purge. “That’s why I’m working on them now.”

Taking the cups to the copper sink basin, Asra scrubbed hastily at the tea-stained ceramic. “Canis, can you handle the deliveries?”

“Uh, sure—” Setting down the laundry basket of freshly-dried sheets, Canis rescued Faust from her manic magician’s shoulders. “What are they?”

“Wine for us, more tea and coffee for the shop.” He frowned, tackling a stain that was older than him. “And the scheduling?”

Canis exchanged a look with Valentin, letting Faust slither into the warm laundry and shaking out a blanket to fold. “Camilla came by this morning. You bumped her to Sunday.”

“I did. Yes. Okay.”

“Asra, are you okay?”

“His friend is coming over.” Valentin took off his tortoiseshell-framed glasses, leaning back on the breakfast nook’s rainbow-padded bench seat. “Isn’t he?”

At the sink, Asra’s cheeks reddened.

Valentin smirked, tapping his pen in the ledger. “I knew it. Sandalwood.”

“Is cooling, soothing, protective, and closely aligned with the moon,” Asra countered, retreating to the safety of his didactic-tutor tone and putting the cups up with the rest in an open-faced, overstuffed cabinet. He stripped the water off his hands with a burst of magic, directing the thin stream into the potted plants on the windowsill under the haze of sandalwood smoke. “Good energy for a Jupiter retrograde.”

“Right.” Valentin nodded. “And Ilya likes the scent.”

“You’re still seeing him?” Canis laughed, tipping Faust out of a pillowcase before folding it on the counter.

She plopped back into the basket with a _Whee!_

“He’s stuck around for a while,” he said, more to the dappled purple constrictor than anyone. “I might actually get to meet this one.”

Wrapping a clump of blanket knitted with blue-and-purple belladonna blossoms in her coils, Faust tasted the air. _Tall_.

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’d like him.” Valentin shuffled through his mounds of papers. “He’s chatty.”

“Which Valentin _doesn’t_ like.” Asra reached into the woven-reed laundry basket to give Canis a hand.

“I don’t mind chatty,” he objected. “I like Canis. And I’m sure Canis would find his stories intriguing, regardless of their authenticity.”

“Ilya embellishes, but he doesn’t lie.” Freeing his belladonna blanket from Faust’s clutches, Asra set her loose on the kitchen counter. “And Canis is the only water sign you’ve ever liked.”

“Ooh, he’s a water sign?” Canis perked up, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

Asra made a face. “Pisces.”

“Ascendant?”

“We’re sleeping together, not moving in.”

Canis huffed. “Still.”

“When he gets here, you can do his whole chart.” Carrying a stack of blankets to the closet under the spiral stairs, Asra grinned. “If he can remember all that when I’m done with him.”

“Maybe catch him before they go upstairs,” Valentin advised.

The basement beneath the shop was split in two. Directly below the shop floor were the shelves of dry goods, potion ingredients, and the only full washroom in the small converted house. Beneath the back rooms, the kitchen and breakfast nook, was a makeshift salon, with a day bed, a beautifully ornate, if somewhat worn, blue-and-gold-and-purple area rug, and two overstuffed armchairs, one significantly closer to the ground due to missing all its legs. Under the day bed, usually used as a sofa for visiting or reading, were stacks of books and board games. On the other side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling, round-edged box bed with shuttered doors that pulled open and shut on tracks with a system of blue ceramic knobs and wheels. The space under the stairs had been hollowed out, lined with the same reddish wood as the box bed, and used to store a forest of teal, cantaloupe, and goldenrod clothes.

It was early, the sunlight from the casements weak. Valentin was still bundled up asleep in the box bed, the doors halfway shut. Canis uncurled on the day bed, emerging from a mountain of mismatched throw pillows with a yawn. He rescued his book from the faded rug, pulled on yesterday’s lavender-and-gold harem pants, and threw one of Asra’s loose-knit raspberry blankets over his shoulder in case the morning chill beat him upstairs. Easing the doors of Valentin’s bed closed, he went up to the kitchen, the center-carpeted stairs creaking softly under his bare feet.

The kitchen was empty, in its usual state of calm disarray. Valentin’s ledger and bills were stacked neatly on the table under a chunk of raw, green-tarnished copper for a paperweight. Half the folded bedsheets and towels—the half Asra had promised to put away—were pushed off to the intersection of counter and wall, to make room for Faust’s patchwork pillow, perfectly angled to catch the sun slanting in the window behind the table. She was curled up in it like a pale purple donut, head resting on her coils. When Canis came in, she cracked her little red marble-eyes and gave a jaw-unhinging yawn. _Friend…_

“Good morning, Faust,” he said softly, setting down his book to stroke the dip in the middle of her head. “Is Asra up yet?”

_Shhh._

“I’ll be quiet.” Nudging the stove salamander awake, he got a fire going under a burner, filling an old tin kettle with water and whispering a few magic-laced words to keep it quiet. Standing on his tiptoes to reach the cabinet, he took down his favorite mug, deep cerulean with tiny spots of gold and silver in constellations that didn’t exist. He flipped open Asra’s tea chest, polished rosewood with a mosaic inlay of a green snake curled around a steaming teacup on the lid, letting the bold, earthy, spicy, floral mélange wash over him before taking tiny scoops from the compartments of dried leaves to cobble together a morning blend in the silver sieved infuser.

A large black shape hung on the coat tree beside the door, obscuring the brilliant turquoise of its usual occupant, Valentin’s court coat. While he waited for the water to heat, Canis went to investigate. It was a long, duster-style overcoat of tight-spun black wool, long enough to reach to his ankle, if not past. The lining was deep, ruby red and satiny—both bold colors against the gentle browns, pinks, purples, and blues decorating the shop. Underneath the layers and layers of incense baked into the shop’s walls, floral and musky, the smell of it was bolder, too—crisp oiled leather and something dark and woody.

In lieu of whistling, the kettle began spitting gold sparkles in its steam. Canis took it off the burner, pouring the hot water into his cup and filling the silver coffee carafe with water to take its place on the heat. The click and clank of metal and porcelain drowned out the soft creak of the spiral stairs.

“Oh, hello.” Deeper than Asra and warmer than Valentin the new voice made him jump. He turned to face the presumed owner of the foreign coat perched on the last stair.

Tall and thin, his chest and neck were peppered with bites and scratches still pink on his pale skin, visible even through the open-necked, blouse-sleeved white shirt falling off his shoulders. At least a head taller than Canis, he wasn’t much bigger around, with loose curls of currant-red hair falling messily around sharp cheekbones and surprised, gunmetal-grey eyes. The lean muscle of his forearm stood out where his hand gripped the lotus-shaped cap of the newel post, and his trousers were belted hastily high on his waist, his shirt slowly coming untucked.

Canis was abruptly, acutely aware of his bedhead’s resemblance to a chocolate-dipped dandelion, and the prominence of his gold-barbell nipple studs from the combination of bare chest and cool morning.

“I was wondering when we’d have the pleasure of meeting,” Asra’s friend said, taking a step into the kitchen. His voice was soft, still a touch throaty from sleep. “Asra didn’t mention his other apprentice had eyes.” He winced almost immediately, covering his face with one hand. “That is—eyes like—such lovely—” He gave a wry laugh. “Shall we, ah, start over?”

The water in the coffeepot started to bubble, clicking Canis’ last gear into place so he could go turn down the heat. He laughed, taking a tin of coffee beans from a cabinet. “You must be Ilya.”

“I am.” He searched the doorless cupboards quickly, taking down a light blue mug painted with pink-and-yellow clouds. “Banished ‘til I can scrounge up some tea for your dear teacher.”

“You’re in luck.” Popping open the tea chest, Canis tossed one of Asra’s pre-stuffed souchong teabags folded into the shape of a paper bird into the empty mug, sliding the kettle over on its embroidered pot holder. “I’m Canis, by the way,” he added, holding out his hand to kiss or to shake and eager to see the verdict.

To his chagrin, Ilya shook it, with a crooked smile at a joke he’d been waiting to make for a long time. “Major or Minor?”

Canis giggled, hiding behind his tea as it steeped on the off chance he’d blushed, as well. “Have you ever met another one?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Ilya poured hot water into the cup, slowly drowning the small paper bird.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Then I’d be Major, wouldn’t I?”

“I suppose you would.”

Canis shook coffee beans into Valentin’s heavy, cylindrical brass grinder, sprinkling in vanilla bean dust and dried orange peel from the tiny painted spice pots lining the wall. “Help yourself to some tea—otherwise coffee should be ready in a minute.” Fitting the fluted brass lid on top, he gave the crank a few turns before the runes stamped into the sides began to iridesce, the crank spinning on its own, releasing the scent of syrupy, dark coffee with a bright pop of citrus as the beans ground down inside.

Ilya took a deep inhale, letting it out on a sigh. “That…would be wonderful.”

“I _thought_ Asra mentioned you were a coffee drinker.” With a sweet smile, Canis climbed up on the counter to get the only matching set of cups in the kitchen, Valentin’s gold-lipped, eggshell-white cappuccino mugs.

“Oh, let me help you with that.” Ilya reached up and caught two mugs by the gold-painted handles, placing a steadying hand on Canis’ back between the shoulder blades. His fingers were cool on Canis’ bare skin, which seemed inconveniently a few degrees warmer than usual.

The freckles on his cheeks quickly disappearing under blush red, Canis slid off the counter, ducking underneath to retrieve incense cones and a long match before fleeing to the breakfast nook. Faust had removed herself from the kitchen bustle to wind around the succulent pots on the windowsill and sun, and she lifted her head when he crumbled incense into the half-moon burner. _Wood?_

“Asra’s desert blend,” he corrected. “Sandalwood and hyacinth.”

“And sage.” Asra hopped off the last stair, sheer white dressing gown tied loosely around his waist. “It’s called Desert Moon.” Sidling between Ilya and the counter to take control of his teacup, he threw the bird into the sink and let the heady, piney steam wash over his face as he pressed back into Ilya’s chest. “I thought you got lost.”

“I’m finally meeting your other lovely assistant.” Lacing his arms around Asra’s waist, he planted a kiss under the golden choker around his neck.

“Mm.” Tilting his head, Asra took a sip of tea. “Getting your natal chart done?”

“My what?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Blowing out the match, Canis jumped down from the table, skittering to the butler pantry between the house and shop floor. He returned with a thick, leather-bound purple tome with silvered pages, a roll of crepe paper, and a straightedge and pen, spreading them out on the kitchen table and pinning down the corners of the paper with empty teacups.

“Canis is our resident astrologer.” The handle of the grinder stopped spinning, and Asra unscrewed the lid, releasing the crisp, smoky scent to mingle with the haze of incense. “He asked about your signs, and I told him to ask when you came over.” He took Canis’ place behind the stove, scooping coffee grounds into the top of the silver pot simmering on the burner.

“Signs plural?” Leaning forward on the counter, Ilya frowned. “According to the stars, I was born in March, so I’m secretly two fish in a human skin. What else is there?”

After a moment, Canis burst out laughing, setting down his pen to bury his face in his book. Asra rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said.“

“It’s exactly what you said.”

Still laughing into the pages of his astrology book, Canis covered his head with his blanket.

“Pisces is only your sun sign.” Shaking his head, Asra took the pitcher of milk out of the ice chest, pouring some into a pot on the stove. “The face you show the world. All the planets have some influence on who you are, in many different aspects.”

“I’ll show you.” Canis sat up, wiping his eyes jovially. “I just need to know when and where you were born.”

“March twelfth—do you need the year?” Catching one of Asra’s hands, Ilya kissed it in a silent apology for his teasing.

“No.” Flipping the book open, Canis scratched it down on a corner of the crepe paper.

“Bless you.”

He giggled, rolling his eyes. “Time?”

\- 

“And finally, your twelfth house—this spot here—” Canis waggled his pen over the _XII_ in blue ink among the crisscrossing, multicolored lines. “—deals in things hidden from plain sight, mysteries and dealings behind your back. It’s also called the House of Self-Undoing.”

“Like your last apartment,” Asra teased, leaning against Ilya’s shoulder half-immersed in a book. Ilya himself had been relatively quipless since his Venus in Aquarius, captivated in alternating parts by the expanse of symbols and angles, and the brilliant golden eyes of the magician interpreting it for him.

“I like to call it the House of Dreams.” Canis cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds a little nicer.”

“These are the things the world keeps secret from you, either in the past or the future,” Asra added. “They may be obvious to those around you, but usually, the Twelfth house is the universe’s idea of dramatic irony—”

“I thought Canis was doing the reading?” Valentin cut in from the kitchen, over the sounds of whisking and meat sizzling on the stove.

“I did, too—but by all means, _Master_.“ Batting his lashes, Canis pushed the heavy star book toward him. “If you’d like to finish.”

“No, no.” Asra threw up his hands, finishing his tea. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He got up, clearing the empty cups away from the astrology tools. “More coffee, Ilya?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Finish the pot.” Valentin topped off his mug from the silver carafe and set it aside. “I’m the only one who drinks it, usually.”

“Anyway.” Sitting up on his knees, Canis circled the tiny blue bar-and-omega with the capped end of his pen. “The Twelfth House in Libra has deception and loss—usually, it’s someone you lost in another life waiting to be found again, someone important, like an old friend or a lost love. You don’t have a lot of support from Venus, which means a love lost through broken trust or unfair expectations, to be reclaimed through some kind of sacrifice, like repaying an emotional debt.” He winced. “I know it sounds harsh, but the Twelfth House is about opportunity for growth, and—”

“It’s like the Tower,” Asra piped up again, bringing over the last of the coffee. “Undoing and rebuilding.” One look from Canis, and he retreated again. “Sorry, sorry.”

Ilya smiled, leaning back in the breakfast nook, long legs swept to one side to keep from bumping Canis under the table. “You know, I can really only follow one magician at a time.”

“Ex _act_ ly.” With an exaggerated huff, Canis flipped his book shut. “The important thing is, a lost love isn’t lost forever. And that’s all of it.” Rolling up the crepe-paper chart, he grinned sheepishly. “I know it’s a lot.”

“It is.” Unfolding from the bench, Ilya stretched, fingertips brushing the kitchen rafters. “But very illuminating. Nice and dramatic toward the end, too.” Leaning against the wall, he took a long sip of coffee. “What do you think? Any surprises?”

Asra smirked, stealing a chunk of cheese from Valentin’s cutting board. “Not many.”

“Passionate, romantic, charming…things you all knew?”

“…impulsive, sentimental, financially unstable…”

“Mm.” Taking another drink, Ilya shrugged. “I could’ve told you that.”

“I,” Asra announced, making his way to the stairs, “need to get dressed. Coming?”

“Absolutely.” Coffee in hand, Ilya pushed off the wall, hanging back to kiss Canis’ hand before following up the stairs. “Thank you for the reading, my dear.”

“Oh.” Hugging the astrology book to his chest, Canis exchanged a pained look with Valentin. “Don’t mention it.”


End file.
